


Gamzee's Girl

by fangirling4evs



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 01:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16052234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirling4evs/pseuds/fangirling4evs
Summary: Rose face palmed herself and her own stupidity. No one escapes from hell that easily.





	Gamzee's Girl

Chapter One  
Dawn crept out from behind the curtains of the small upstairs room, waking the sleeping girl. She rubbed the sleep from her lavender eyes and frowned at the heaps of blankets shielding her exposed body from the crisp summer air. The scars hidden beneath the covers were red and sore, typical for wounds that had been reopened. And they hurt like hell.

She shifted her sore legs out of the bed, careful not to wake the troll that slept soundly on the other side. Her bare feet gently touched the cold hardwood floor and she made her way to her robe and slid it on silently.

The door creaked open as Rose slid her palm in between it and the doorframe. When the opening was large enough for her, she slipped through and shut it quickly. If she was blessed with these first moments in the morning, the least she could do was be quiet and try not to wake him up.

He was a notoriously sound sleeper and had probably used all of his energy up last night. The girl scowled at this thought, and her mind drifted back to the claw marks that covered most of her body. Thankfully the robe acted as a barrier between her curious eyes and mangled body.

Treading down the stairs, her foot hit the bottom of the ground level and she made her way into the kitchen, because according to him “that’s where girls belong”. Bullshit. If he really tried, perhaps he would be able to make his own disgusting soda someday. Alas, that day was not today and she hurriedly set the yeast in the water to dissolve it.

In the refrigerator lied a container of grape, orange, strawberry and moon mist flavorings, each more gross than the last. Why the bastard liked this shit, she had no clue. Nothing he did ever made sense, she had learned that the best idea was just go with it and there would be less punishments.

The girl took out a mixing bowl and began to combine sugar, soda extract, strawberry flavoring, and dissolved yeast into a jug, filling it with water, and putting it back into the fridge. Her daily chore of making Faygo was over for today.

She stifled a yawn and put a bowl of Condy’s Catch on the counter, then turned to make her own oatmeal. The sugary fish in Condy’s Catch cereal just wasn’t for her, she had better things to do than get a toothache over the artificially flavored food. Not to mention the fact that she would NEVER eat anything that had to do with the Supreme Empress of the Earth. 

The thought of the previous invasion sent shivers into her spine. Although she was only 15 when it happened, she remembers the death and destruction of her life clearly as if it were yesterday. 

The teen shook her head of the thoughts. No point on dwelling on what cannot be changed. It’s better to live in the present than get your head caught up in a fantasy in which will never become real. 

She sighed and slumped onto a barstool, leaning her head against the counter, listening to the steady bubbling of her oatmeal. She inhaled deeply and let herself be calm for a moment, not worrying about any harsh beatings or sexual pleasures she would have to give that day. 

Sunlight filtered in through the window panes and light enveloped the room in a nice, warm atmosphere. The rays of light framed the blonde’s hair and made her pale complexion glow. If she hadn’t been in his household, then she might even go as far as to call it a nice day. A hiss grew from the stove and she went over to her breakfast, serving it into a bowl, letting herself bask in the steam that it gave off.

By the time the bowl was empty, her throat was scorching. Tears welled up in her eyes, for she had most definitely eaten the food too fast and not given the oatmeal enough time to cool off. 

Hot. Heat. Steam. Fire.

The words left pictures in her mind, pictures of the old Earth. The one destroyed so, so long ago. For 2 years it has been lost to her and she misses it dearly. In a way though, it’s ironic. The girl gives off a low chuckle. She is missing Earth while currently inhabiting it. Who would have thought she’d be able to say that.

It wasn’t only Earth that she was missing though. Oh no, hundreds of friends, relatives and direct family members were gone in a fiery blaze, probably never to return.

She lost control of the tears in her eyes and they began their path down her plain face. She was always stumped at why someone like him would pick her as their slave. Surely there were prettier girls to choose from. But no, she had to be the unfortunate soul who had to endure his mood swings, put up with his jokes and assist to his every need.

The girl had never been a people person so spending almost every waking hour with a person was torture, and with him, a hell on Earth. But Earth is hell anyway, so why fight it.

There was no denying that the Condenscention had taken over this planet and had no intentions of giving it back anytime soon. And if it wasn’t enough to just take our planet, the Batter Witch enforced harsh rules upon the humans.

One of the decrees hung above his fireplace, displayed like a trophy;

 

No. 1: All humans shall be hunted and exterminated  
or  
placed into superior care.

Some Empress. The teen rolled her eyes and ignored the temptation to throw a rock at the paper mounted on the wall. Superior care? She was the one caring for him, making sure he was in good health, fixing his meals, mixing his shitty sodas. They might as well call it what it is; slavery.

She picked herself off of the stool and carefully washed her dishes. After placing them on the drying rack, she viewed the still waiting soda and bowl of cereal, debating whether she should scrap it and start anew or hope he doesn’t notice how cold the cereal is. What she’s really debating, is whether she should get beaten for attempting to help him or get beaten because of lack of caring.

She scoffed at these occurring thoughts. Like hell does she even remotely care about him, but alas, her own hide is more important, because unlike he, she has something worth living for. 

The thought of her one remaining reason to stay alive brightened her face, making her lavender eyes light up with joy. 

In her moment of pure bliss and adoration, her hand brushed next to the cup of the faygo, and it fell along with Rose’s dreams, onto the floor and shattering into thousands of tiny, non pickupable pieces.

Shit. Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

Rose face palmed herself and her own stupidity. No one escapes from hell that easily. She should have watched her now trembling hands. Her own goddamn fault. Fucking great.

Rose muttered more profanities as she saw the bright red liquid oozing from where the glass had dropped. 

“Serves the bastard right,” Her eyes wandered to the color that seemed to be seeping into the floorboards.

It wasn’t starting out a great morning at all.

The red liquid began spreading to more portions of the wooden boards, infusing them with the same firetruck color.

Rose grabbed a washcloth from the sink and started furiously scrubbing the floor with it. If he found out that she had stained the floor or, heaven forbid, spilled his drink, she would be forced into deeds she had no intention of wanting to do.

There would only be more red liquid on the floor if she couldn’t get the faygo out in time for her “master’s” arrival for breakfast. Her blood was spilled frequently, but for once she had hoped that she could go a day without messing something up and digging herself into a deeper hole. 

Sweat dripped down her brow and she swiped it away with the back of her hand, feverishly attempting to rid the liquid, but it looked as if the red would stay fused in it forever. Rose looked out the windows to see that she had missed the sunrise.

Her face frowned. The sunrise was one of the main factors in her decision to stay alive and not end it all. If the sun could continue shining, then she could most definitely keep on living.

‘Perhaps...’

Her mind flowed with new ways she could possibly mask the mistake.

‘If I could cover the floor with some sort of rug or mat, then he wouldn’t notice.’

It was a weak idea, but it was all she had for now. So she grabbed the “Welcome” mat by the door, momentarily scoffing at the irony, and then placing it careful upon the spot, smoothing it down so that is looked like it semi belonged.

Only....why the fuck was there a welcome mat in the middle of the dining room?

Rose scowled. After all, she was worthless wasn’t she? Maybe what he said was true.

Worthless. Pathetic. Weak. Pitiful.

Tears were invading her eyes and for a small moment she entertained the idea that maybe the faygo would magically disappear if she cried on it.

That thought was dismissed immediately. Magical things just don’t happen to humble servants like her. This was her life now, even though it was painful and she hated it almost to the point of death.

So she tried again with the cloth and soap, hoping that by letting it dry it would scrub off easier, but of course, it didn’t work.

Why would it work? I mean, Rose had no luck at all, so why bother trying?

She sighed and laid on the ground, laying on top of the mat and looking around the hidden house. 

It was a cottage hidden from plain view because it was obscured by trees. If she were to be frank, he lived in a treehouse. But after she had called her hellhole that, he made sure that she couldn’t see her hellhole for a week.

There was a small kitchenette with an oven/stove and a refrigerator. An island sat in the center, separating the miniscule kitchen from the dining room and sitting room. A table sat in the center of the dining space accompanied by four chairs, most of which weren’t regularly used. The few times that he let her eat meals with him were painfully conversive. As if he believed they were just two friends eating lunch at a table.

Never. Never would she ever be friends with a bastard such as himself. 

There was a thin staircase towards the back of the house that led up towards to only bedroom in his house. One bed, one blanket, 2 bodies. Every single night. Joy.

Nights were the cause of her pain, the time where he chose to ride his burdens out on her. 

Sometimes she felt more like a prostitute than a servant. There was no name for what she was, other than, perhaps, a lowly subordinate who performed sexual activities whether liked or not. 

Rose sighed and stared at the ceiling, perhaps she should get some clothes on. But the risk of the creaking stairs waking up the troll was too frightening to handle. She didn’t have a death wish, nor did she want to see his face so early into a beautiful day. 

Her head jerked when she heard the stairs moan.

The troll stifled a yawn and stretched his arms into the air in a laid-back motion. The polka dotted pants he wore rode down revealing his greyish skin tone. His black hair was in its typical messy style and he laughed heartlessly at the image of Rose lying on the floor.

She quickly sat up and clutched the robe to her chest. Then she rose and began the process of pouring his drink and serving the platter of food she had made for him. 

“No good morning? Love, I thought you had learned.” 

His arms snaked around her waist as she stood by the counter, and he leaned his head on her shoulder, whispering into her ear. 

“You motherfuckin know how I feel about that,” A slow growl emitted from his mouth and he lightly bit the top of her ear.

Rose sighed and continued to stare at the window, at better things than the man behind her. “Good morning,”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chided, “Good morning who? I know you know my name, you were screaming it all night.” A purr this time.

Rose rolled her eyes. More like she was crying his name and pleading him to get off of her.

“Good morning Gamzee.”

“Motherfuckin music to my ears.” Another laugh and he removed himself from her body, choosing to sit at the counter. 

Rose twitched nervously, he hadn’t noticed the rug yet, so hopefully that was a good sign. 

“What’s got you all up and tight my lady?” He picked up the silver spoon and began eating. 

“Nothing, I’m just going to get dressed alright?” 

She took a turn for the stairs when a strong hand grabbed her arm harshly, she cried out in pain. But the man only grinned in response, trailing his other hand over her curves from outside the robe. 

“Not alright, I believe I rather like you without clothes on.” A malicious smile towered over her small frame. 

She tugged her arm out from his grasp, “Please, not now.”

The look in his eyes turned predatory as they narrowed. 

“And who the fuck are you to deny me what I motherfuckin want? You are nothing! Without me, you’d be dead on the streets of new Earth and no one would give a fuck about you!” He spat in her face and slammed her up against the wall, his clawed hand digging into the side of her neck while she coughed and sputtered out apologies.

“Yeah, you fuckin better be.” He hissed out between his teeth.

Without a care, Gamzee dropped Rose to the ground and began walking away calmly to finish his cereal. 

Rose said nothing, as there was nothing that could be said. She just picked herself back up, placing a steady palm on the area Gamzee had mawed with his claws. She could feel liquid oozing out of the punctures and figured that she would need to bandage them soon before they got infected. 

Two steps up and his twisted voice rose up again, “One more thing dearest, I’m gonna be gone again today. Make dinner and if shits good, I’ll give you an extra special somethin tonight,” A quick wiggle of the eyebrows and a suggestive wink made Rose’s stomach hurl. 

She gave a sparse nod and continued up the stairs and into the bedroom which they both slept in. Collapsing on the now empty bed, Rose felt her eyes water and permitted the steady flow of tears. Although, once the tears reached her neck, they left a stinging pain as the salt intermixed with the raw wound, reminding her that she needed to address the punctures. 

Shakily, she rose to her feet and dragged herself to the closet, putting on a modest black dress that had a high enough collar to hide the bandages. Then, cautiously, she applied salve and wrapped her injury with medical gauze, surely by morning it would be off anyways, but it was nice for now. 

With morning slipping away, Rose trudged back downstairs, praying that Gamzee would have left by now. A small smile escaped her lips and she breathed a sigh of relief; her abuser was gone. 

Life as a captive is filled with routine and regimen. That was how Rose spent her days. 

 

Morning: Make breakfast; don’t screw up.  
Afternoon: Clean and relax; don’t screw up.  
Night: Make dinner, entertain, succumb; he’ll screw you up.

 

An afternoon filled with mops, dustpans and washcloths is not one to rejoice over. However any moment spent without Gamzee was a blessing that Rose would cherish. She turned on the TV for background noise and got to work on the already-impeccable house. And more importantly, the stain that tattooed the hardwood floor. 

Chemistry is a difficult subject for some to master. Her master was fortunate enough to be the few. With all the drugs he cooked up on a whim, Rose dug under the kitchen sink until she found what she needed; a large bottle of hydrogen peroxide. 

In a book she once read lifetimes ago, Rose recalled that hydrogen peroxide or natural bleach as others would prefer, could remove almost any substance from another. Figuring the odds might work with her this one time. 

Dipping a soft hand into the solution, Rose dunked a rag in in, hissing as the bleach splashed upwards, towards the wound on her neck. She was not immune to pain. 

A quick swipe pushed the Welcome mat out of her way as she carefully laid the washcloth on the red spots. As she got up, she pressed her feet into the rag, making sure the mixture would soak into the solution, and then stood straight and headed back into the bedroom.

 

It was her least favorite room in the fortified building, the bedroom at least. With polka dotted sheets, matching pillow and comforter, it was no wonder why. The room wreaked of sopor pie and was littered with horns galore. She couldn’t stand it. Every careful step was ruined when the horn’s obnoxious sound filled the air. She really couldn’t stand the horns. 

 

As she fell back with a sign unto the lumpy mattress, her eyes fluttered shut as one last thought flittered throught her mind.

 

She has someone worth living for.


End file.
